HERE’S A POST FROM ONE YEAR AGO – A FEW DAYS AFTER THE BROOKLYN HALF: As
I put on my sneakers this morning, preparing to take another run, I
took a long, hard look at those well-worn shoes. My blue and white
nylon Sauconys with the small hole in the right toe and the frayed
thread around the edges are like old friends. We’ve been through so
much together.

I also put on my official Brooklyn Half-Marathon t-shirt that I got
with the New York Road Runners Club registration bag. My race number is
already in the special cabinet in the living room where we put small,
special things.

The looming question now is what next. Do I train for the New York
marathon or just keep on keeping on with light training three or four
times a week. There are shorter races and other half-marathons to do. A
friend mentioned a half-marathon in Central Park for women over 40 and
there’s always the Faster Five course at Jack Rabbit.

I told a stranger with a Caribbean accent I befriended on the course
as we turned into the final stretch: "Now that you’ve done this you can
do anything in your life." 

Apparently Microsoft Word now accepts the words:"blog," "blogger," and "blogosphere"  in their spell check. Doesn’t that make all you bloggers feel validated? This from AM/NY.

Microsoft Word loves to underline misspelled words with angry red
squiggly marks. But as of the 2007 edition, currently in beta testing,
words like "blog," "blogger," and "blogosphere," won’t be singled out
for the spell check treatment. Apparently "blog," at least as far as
the programmers at Microsoft are concerned, is now part of the English
language.

Why do some blogs get famous and others don’t?

In other words, how come no one’s ever done an article about OTBKB?  Grumble. Grumble.

Here’s a piece about blogging in NYC from AM/NY.

Not one word about OTBKB. What am I, chopped liver? Come on now.

His name is Patrice Evans, but you can call him The Assimilated Negro.

For the past six months, Evans has been blogging under his wry nickname, posting stories, comics and even self-produced hip-hop tracks about other blogs (theassimilatednegro.blogspot.com). He is a foot soldier in the growing army of New Yorkers battling for recognition in the blogosphere.

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"At the core of the blogging appeal is an independent sense of empowerment," he explains. "Blogs are very much at home in the New York City spirit of doing things yourself, instead of depending on a big name to back you up."

According to local blog registry nycbloggers.com, there are more than 6,250 independent blogs like The Assimilated Negro scattered throughout the five boroughs. Many others, like the 14 published by Gawker Media, are owned by commercial enterprises based here in New York.

Both independents and professionals (those who make a living through blogging), say that New Yorkers have been uniquely successful in employing this technology as a business and as an art.

"There are so many New Yorkers out there who write really well and tell stories really well," says Chris Hampton, who blogs at uffish.com. "More and more they are realizing that blogging is a good way to communicate with their audience."

Hampton hosts the WYSIWYG Talent Show, an all-blogger monthly review of readings and skits. Past shows have explored topics like "The City That Never Shuts Up" and "Worst. Sex. Ever."

Listening to tales of drug and sex-fueled romps at a WYSIWYG (What You See Is What You Get) show quickly dispels the still-lingering stereotype of blogger as super-dork, someone who stays at home on the computer in order to avoid actual human contact.

Hampton says she started blogging in order to have a creative outlet while stuck at an administrative day job. Others blog to flex their journalistic muscles without the constraints imposed by mainstream media outlets.

Whatever their motivation, there are bloggers in this town catering to every interest, written by every conceivable kind of person, and collectively working to create a 21st-century New York that is the country’s foremost Blog City.

Cultural Happenings

Blogs like brooklyn-vegan.com traffic almost exclusively in listing and reviews of upcoming music and dance shows. A similar service, though not technically a blog, is available through Web sites like thrillist.com. After registering, users receive emails with recommendations about things to do or see or eat around the city.

"Reading a bad review of something doesn’t really give you a whole lot," said Ben Lerer, co-founder of Thrillist. "We want to give people stuff they can really move on."

In a nod to the dynamic allure of blogs, the popular e-mail newsletter flavorpill.net is launching a redesign next week that will include daily updates on its Web site. Co-founder Sascha Lewis says it’s a way to stay current in a city where culture evolves faster than you can click the "refresh" button.

News and Gossip

They range from earnest reporting to posts so snarky that the irony becomes more compelling than the story itself. At the earnest end are news blogs like gothamist.com, which offer straight-shooting reports of politics and local culture that are "just trying to give people a sense of what the city is like on this day," according to editor Jen Chung.

"I think we tend to be straightforward … because we genuinely love the city and just want to share our enthusiasm about it," she explains. On the opposite end of the spectrum are gossip blogs like gawker.com and jossip.com, whose postings tend to value the scathing over the flattering. Still, snark is sexy, and blogs like gawker get an enormous amount of attention from the very same media sources they routinely criticize.

Real Estate

Topics that resonate with all New Yorkers — housing prices, new construction projects and gentrification — are fertile ground for commentary and speculation, making real estate blogs like curbed.com and brownstoner.com some of the more popular in the city.

"Neighborhoods mean so much in New York, more than anyplace else," says curbed.com senior editor Joey Arak. "Something as trivial as a Starbucks opening explodes into something huge, because people care about everything coming into their little parcel of New York City acreage."

Arak speaks of "niche neighborhood blogs," that focus on esoteric subjects like where to find the best bagel or what B-List celebrity might be checked into a particular hotel.

Blogs Stay For a Spell

Microsoft Word loves to underline misspelled words with angry red squiggly marks. But as of the 2007 edition, currently in beta testing, words like "blog," "blogger," and "blogosphere," won’t be singled out for the spell check treatment. Apparently "blog," at least as far as the programmers at Microsoft are concerned, is now part of the English language.

On Thursday at 6:30 p.m., Develop Don’t Destroy Brooklyn is sponsoring a Community  Forum Forest City Ratner’s plan to build build 17 skyscrapers at Atlantic and Flatbush.

Francis Morrone, an urban historian, author, and columnist for the New York Sun will speak. At the First Unitarian Congregational Society 50 Monroe Place at Pierrepont, Brooklyn Heights, 624.5466 

Another story about Brooklyn furniture –  this time in the City Section of the New York Times, Kate Hawley wrote this piece called "Desk Dreams" for the column: "The City Observed."

Late in August, we heaved the few things I still owned into a rented
minivan and headed for New York. He drove the whole way. When we
arrived, he carried the heavy boxes of books and stereo equipment up
the narrow stairs to my new apartment, a small two-bedroom on Fifth
Avenue in Park Slope. The place was mostly furnished, but it was
missing one thing: a desk. We set out in search.

The desk had to
be perfect. I’ve always been particular about my work space, but my
standards shot up in proportion to my New York ambitions; I should be
able to run my fingers over the wood grain and feel ideas begin to
percolate. Aesthetics were important — no tacky particleboard. And
while I like modern design, I felt that this desk should breathe of
history, of greatness; it should probably, I decided, be an antique.

THERE
were also practical considerations. It had to fit precisely — I had
only three and a half feet of wall to play with — and I required
drawers as well as shelves. It also had to be ergonomically safe, as I
planned to sit at it for hours at a stretch. All this for less than
$100, which was all I could afford on my graduate student budget.

Sometimes being OTBKB is so easy. Eating a bagel with whitefish spread in the dining room listening to WNYC, I hear our local award-winning reporter Andrea Bernstein’s story on Weekend Edition about turning the Brooklyn House of Detention into a mall.

But what kind of mall? A food center, an upscale shopping mall,  a public space for weddings? All sorts of ideas are being considered.  And they’ve no intention of getting rid of the jail, there The jail will still be occupied upstairs. Feel like doing some shopping at the prison. Getting married in jail. Why not. It’s New York, full of lots of strange juxtapositions.

In another NPR segment, Elvis Mitchell, weighs in on the recent flurry of concert films, including Dave Chapelle’s Block Party, which is getting raves like this one from Entertainment Weekly:

Dave Chappelle’s Block Party is perhaps the first concert movie since Stop Making Sense to give you a blissful buzz. The buzz comes from the music, which has a loose, burning joy that’s rare to behold in a live rap performance, and also from Chappelle’s wicked prankster’s glee, which spreads through the movie like a happy virus.  —Entertainment Weekly

Now playing at BAM, here’s the blurb on their web site:

Did you miss Dave Chappelle’s once-in-a-lifetime Bed-Stuy block party in 2004? Never fear, this new documentary by Michel Gondry (music-video wiz and director of the 2004 smash Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) will take you there. After signing a $50 million contract with Comedy Central, Dave Chappelle celebrated his success by bringing together some of the most well respected artists in hip-hop for an unpublicized free concert on a regular street corner in Bed-Stuy. Chappelle and Gondry combine the footage of the concert with thoughtful interviews and asides that give the viewer a look at the daily lives of Bed-Stuy residents. Dave Chappelle’s Block Party features performances by Kanye West, Mos Def, Talib Kweli, Common, Dead Prez, Erykah Badu, Jill Scott, the Roots, Cody ChesnuTT, Big Daddy Kane, and—reunited for their first performance in over seven years—the Fugees.

Speaking of BAM, boy does New York TIme’s writer Charles Isherwood have it in for Cate Blanchett. He really attacks her performance in BAM’s sold-out production of Hedda Gabler.

Narsty. Narsty. 

In the beginning of his essay, he applauds Blanchett for "using her level of fame to bring her artistic clout to worthy projects." But then he goes in for the kill and grills her for a crowd-pleasing celebrity performance. He even accuses her of pandering to the audience and bringing out ill-conceived humor and quirky histrionics.

"She and her colleagues seem determined to infuse the play with quirky histionics, as if to let the tex speak sensibly for itself for a minute would risk hurling us all into a state of catatonia. The pfocution brings to mind a brood of sqawking chickens fussing about in the barnyard.

Isherwood, perhaps correctly, assumes that Blanchett was the animating force behind the production—which he claims would not be the centerpiece of BAM’s season without her. He also mentions that Andrew Upton, who adapted Ibsen’s work for the stage, is Blanchett’s husband. 

I found the tone of Isherwood’s essay to be unnecessarily nasty. I have not seen the play, but I doubt BAM thought, as Isherwood says, that they had to dumb the play down in order to coddle their audience. The BAM audience is an adventurous one and they have sat through many a long, difficult production as part of the Next Wave festival in the seats of the opera house.

Ms. Blanchett and Ms. Nevin may reason that audiences coming to see a movie star in a complicated play need to be coddled and cajoled into having a reasonably good tim. They are determined to give us a good one. But shouldn’t their first respobsibility be to what Ibsen wanted.

Okay. This is when I thought that Isherwood was WAY OFF THE MARK. Has Isherwood even looked at a list of the kinds of productions BAM is famous for. Think of all the experimental works of theater, music and performance that have graced the stage of the opera house, as part of the Next Wave Festival:  Einstein on the Beach. Still/Here, Karole Armitage, Laurie Anderson, Eiko and Koma, Pina Bausch, Mark Morris, and on and on and on.

A purist, like Isherwood, will always object to an experimental treatment of a masterwork. But in staging a new interpretation of a great play, a director will often  shed new light on its meanings and subtle shadings that sometimes even the author was unaware of. To say that this is being done just to coddle an audience is insulting the artists involved with this production.

What’s up with this? An aricle on the front page of the New York Times about a $65 dollar table that a Carroll Garden’s resident with the name Beau Willimon found on Craig’s List.

So is that a story for the front page of the New York Times?

Actually it’s my favorite kind of story. A simple situation – buying a table on Craig’s List – that’s not so simple afterall.  It includes an Orthodox Jew, a strange glass filled van filled too high and, inexplicablty: a murder.

The story takes our man Beau, who is a playwright and worked on Howard Dean’s presidential capmpaign, to Crown Heights where he meets Mr. Klein. Soon he realizes, "I’m like, this is a slightly eccentric New Yorker who I have to deal with to get this table."

Brooklyn Beau, needless to say, lives to tell the tale (and even considered writing a play about it). But Mr. Klein does not. But that comes later. It’s a strange story.  Read all about it in today’s paper of record.

UPDATE ON JACKIE CORNER: There’s a really good reason why  Friends and Fans of Jackie Connor are rushing with a petition to rename First Street and Seventh Avenue Jackie’s Connor’s Corner: The City Council only accepts petitions for this kind of thing twice a year and the March 31 deadline is approaching.

Friends and Fans has a bio written and they have been assured that they have enough signatures for approval.  The steps in this process require Community Board 6, the City Council, and the Department of Transportation to sign off on dedicating the Corner. They all knew Jackie," writes Fonda Sara. "So really it is a no-brainer."

The corner of Seventh Avenue and Sterling is similarly marked: "Ed Rogowsky’s Way.” According to Fonda, "Ed was a city planner/Brooklyn advocate who came from the same "school" as Jackie."

FROM WEDNESDAY: How do you memorialize a remarkable person who spent her life advocating on behalf of the people and streets of Park Slope. NAME A STREET AFTER HER.  Already friends and fans of Jackie Connor are on it — taking their inspiration from Jackie, who always knew how to get things done.

Sign a petition to re-name the corner of Carroll Street and Seventh Avenue:
"Jackie Connor’s Corner"

This petition will be presented on Thursday evening to the Transportation Committee of Community Board 6.

Add your name
to support this petition: There is one hanging in the front entrance of PS 321.  You can also go to Bob and Judy’s Coolectibles on Fifth Avenue
between Union & President or Zuzus Petals on Fifth Avenue between 5th
& 6th Streets.

I took a spill yesterday. Some of the key words and phrases in this story are: Starbucks. Bay Ridge. Spilled latte. Twisted ankle

After a parent-teacher conference at my son’s high school, Teen Spirit and I walked over to a Starbucks at Third Avenue and Bay Ridge Parkway.  He ordered an apple fritter and I had some kind of flavored latte.

We decided to take a car service home, so we waited in the Starbucks for our Eastern Car Service car. We thought we saw the car from the window and left the Starbucks through a glass- covered sidewalk cafe area of this Starbucks. I wasn’t even sure if there was an entrance/exit in this area, but we pushed one of the doors and it opened.

Next thing I know I am falling…I didn’t see a step and I am flying out as is my coffee cup. I spill latte all over my  brown down coat, which I was holding in my arms. I land on the sidewalk.

I do remember the feeling: I’m falling and there’s nothing I can do about this. There was a calm about it: I was resigned to it — there was no avoiding it — I am going down

"Mom, are you alright?" my son asked. He reached out his hand to me, but I decided to stay seated on the sidewalk. He picked up my coat off the sidewalk; it was covered in latte. A nice man came over at which point I started crying. "Can I help you," he said. Do you need any help?"

"No, that’s okay I have my son," and I did feel a grateful sensation that my son was there and I could just sit on the sidewalk and cry.

Seconds later I was standing. Another nice man came over. "If you just spilled your coffee you can go back inside and get another." He wasn’t a Starbucks employee. I thanked the man but declined.  We waited on the windy corner for our car.

Getting into the car I joked, "Maybe we should sue Starbucks." My son smiled in agreement. We rode home looking at the top of my foot, which was starting to swell. There was also a cut on my knee.

When moms fall apart in front of their children, there is a momentary realignment of roles. Teen Spirit had to help me up, hold my coat, make sure I was okay. I could tell he was unsettled by the event. The weird realization that mother’s cry: we experience pain, we can embarass the hell out of our children by crying on the street, our ankles can twist, we can fall.

We are human and our children must be strong. And he was. Yes, even moms fall apart and whimper all the way down Third Avenue to Park Slope feeling stupid, feeling pain, needing a Band Aid for my knee and a bandage for my foot..

We are human and our children must be strong. Sometimes.

Thanks to A Brooklyn Life, I just learned that Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, one of the big indie bands du jour, got its name off a wall near the Gowanus Canal. A Brooklyn Life found the story at the Tucson Sun.

On the way to their first gig, they were driving through Brooklyn, near the Gowanus Canal, and saw the phrase "Clap Your Hands Say Yeah" written on a wall in 6-foot-high letters. Not graffiti letters, but normal-looking letters, which seemed strange. They needed a name, and the phrase seemed appropriate. After playing together for a few months, the band recorded a self-titled album, and released it themselves.

READ MORE AT A BROOKLYN LIFE

A site called three layer cake has an interview with Park Slope’s own Grace Bonney of Design Sponge.

The multiple daily posts on design*sponge,
as effervescent and sunny as they may be, pale in comparison to the
real live woman who writes them.  Grace Bonney, a Virginia-native
living in Brooklyn, is the voice behind the design blog which attracts
over 12,000 readers a day.  Now that she’s on her own, she has the
potential to go even farther.

Grace is extremely articulate and focused.  She has very clear ideas
about what she likes and dislikes and makes no bones about it.  That’s
not to say she’s brash—she’s the exact opposite, but even with her
demure demeanor (Southern like her accent), she makes her opinion heard
and respected.  She grew up in Virginia Beach, graduated from William
and Mary in Colonial Williamsburg with a degree in art and art history
and for the past two and a half years worked full time at a record
label and as an assistant at a Brooklyn PR firm that handled large
design accounts like Vitra. Working so closely with the design
community, Bonney rekindled her passion for interior and product design
and, as of March 6, she’s a ‘minipreneur’, running her own design website and working as a freelance design writer and consultant for various national publications….READ MORE AT three layer cake

A rave in the New York Times about Kate Valk and the Wooster Group’s "Emperor Jones"at St. Ann’s Warehouse.

A performance of much more recent vintage has inspired similar
effusions among a certain subset of New York theatergoers. Mingling at
an art opening or lounging in a club on the Lower East Side, some among
you may have been subjected to a harangue, delivered through a smug fog
of cigarette smoke, on the strange glory of Kate Valk in the Wooster
Group’s acclaimed production of "The Emperor Jones," in the latter days
of the last century.

Alas for these downtown hipsters and their
velvet ropes, this performance has not conveniently retreated into the
V.I.P. room of theater legend, never to re-emerge. The Wooster Group
production of "Emperor Jones" is back onstage at St. Ann’s Warehouse in
Brooklyn, and there, at its center, is Ms. Valk again, riveting,
haunting, altogether astonishing.

She is attired in
tatterdemalion regalia befitting a legend-in-the-making, in a
voluminous garment that resembles a cheapo king’s costume arrested in
the process of swallowing a kimono. But the oddity of this ensemble may
take a while to register, since the most arresting aspect of Ms. Valk’s
aspect is the thick, oily black makeup covering her entire face. The
petite, Caucasian, obviously female Ms. Valk is playing the title role,
Brutus Jones, a venal black train porter turned despot, in O’Neill’s
hypnotic play about the destructive impact of history on the shaping of
personality. And she is playing it in blackface.

These words were on a laminated wake card given out at Jackie Connor’s memorial. I believe they were written by Dr. Annette Hall of St. Francis Xavier School.

Jackie Connor was an advocate for the poor, the homeless, the underpaid, the tenant, the senior citizen, the child, and the teenager. For us who knew her, Jackie was the one you called for to help you spread the news about an injustice or something that needed fixing or taking care of. She believed in solving problems through the system. She had a strong voice, which was backed by her actions. She argued for fair rent for tenants, marched to keep youth programs open, attended school hearings and join committees to imporve public schools. Jackie was relentless in her efforts to make life better for those in need. Thos who disagreed with her had a formidable opponenet. She was an advocate who people respected. Government officials knew Jackie, the police officers on the beat adored her, and the store owners appreciated her wisdom. Her neighbors loved and respected her. Jackie will be missed, but what she has done for other people will be remembered. Her energy, drive, and caring will be the force in their hearts to help them carry on.

The Oh So Feisty One (OSFO) has been talking about getting her ears pierced since her last birthday. Somehow it was decided that she would get them pierced at The Treasure Chest in Park Slope the morning of her 9th birthday. Then it was decided that she would get them pierced the day before her 9th birthday. Then it was decided that she would get them pierced the weekend before her 9th birthday.

And that’s what happened.

The week before she kept saying: Shouldn’t we go in and make an appointment, shouldn’t we go in and tell them that we’re coming on Saturday. Shouldn’t we tell them…

I did go in a few days before and was told by someone working there that the person who pierces ears is in on Saturday and we wouldn’t need an appointment.

On Saturday we showed up at 10 a.m. and the same woman said, "So do you have an appointment?"

Okay. "The guy doesn’t get in until noon," she said. "But I can see if he’ll come in." The ear piercing guy showed up about an hour later – -and we amused ourselves at the PS 321 Winter Carnival.

We went back to the store and still had to wait for the ear piercing guy. He’s a young guy. Very young. i think he may be the son of the owner. He works very quickly. He got his tools – a drill-like thing – and asked OSFO to sit on a chair in the middle of the small shop.

He then positioned the drill-like thing and MAGIC ear 1 was done. He then looked at both ears like an artist trying to position the other hole. And MAGIC ear 2 was done.

I forgot to mention, in the time we were waiting, OSFO picked out pretty gold stud earrings with a red stone.

The guy told us to put Bacitracin on her ears 3-4 times a day. AND she must not take the earrings out for six weeks.

OSFO just loves to put her hair behind her ears so everyone can see that SHE HAS PIERCED EARS!!!!

A reader just sent me this note with a link to her blog , which is called Blah Blah Babycakes, where she posted my DUMBO piece from The Brooklyn Papers.  I told her I was thrilled.  She also thinks it was her nanny I was talking to in the Pirate Playground.

I wanted to write to tell you how much I enjoyed your piece on Dumbo moms.  It was funny and my husband and I had a good laugh.  I’ve posted a link and because it was a pdf actually pasted the text on my blog and I just wanted to let you know in case it was illegal, rude or breaking a blog rule. 

LIVE THERE? YOU’D HAVE TO BE  A DUMBO   by Louise Crawford

A BROKEN CLOCK is right twice a day, so when Dumb Editor asked Smartmom to look into the sudden influx of new moms in industrial DUMBO, Smartmom blew him off. But Dumb Editor persisted. “I can’t think of anyone better to investigate the phenomenon than you,” he said, buttering her up like a scone at Connecticut Muffin. “After all, these new moms are are you 15 years ago.” How old does he think Smartmom is? But Dumb Editor had a point. Smartmom was pushing Teen Spirit in a Combi stroller when Park Slope, like DUMBO now, was experiencing its first baby boom.

So Smartmom changed out of her schleppy Park Slope uniform (PS 321 Tshirt, black stretch pants), donned her snazziest jeans and leather jacket (so as to blend in with the DUMBO crowd) and took a car service to the Pirate Playground,located on the banks of the East River. With its views of the Brooklyn Bridge and lower Manhattan, it is, arguably, the most spectacular set of monkey bars in the world.

Ever the urban anthropologist,Smartmom was eager to eavesdrop on DUMBO moms. Were their conversations like those in Park Slope, where the playground chatter seems to revolve around Food Coop suspensions, missed real-estate opportunities, or early intervention programs? Or did they whine about their art dealers? Smartmom discreetly sidled up to a couple of moms who were talking intensely while watching their sons play. But it turns out that DUMBO is the worst possible neighborhood for eavesdropping.

The traffic and subway on the Manhattan Bridge overwhelms the entire area, making the playground way too noisy for subtle surveillance. “How do you like living here?” Smartmom asked one of the moms, who was chicly dressed in a suede jacket, tight suede pants and Ugg Boots. Smartmom really wanted to ask how the heck they get their babies to nap, given the constant ruckus. Ugg Mom looked suspicious, but soon warmed to the idea of her 15-minutes of fame. “Oh I love it. Just love
it,” she said. “It’s so urban, so much more like Manhattan than Park Slope or Brooklyn Heights. There’s a great sense of community here.” Smartmom ran after Ugg Mom and asked her if there’s much to do with kids around here. “Tons.  There’s tons to do. It’s a fantastic, family-oriented neighborhood.” Then she shooed Smartmom away. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to talk to my friend.” Manhattan, indeed.

Nearby were two Caribbean nannies, so Smartmom chatted them up.  “I hate this neighborhood,” said one, as she rocked a bright orange Bugaboo.  “It’s so boring,” the other one added. They seemed eager to share the winter of their discontent.  “There’s nothing to do, especially in the cold,” said the first. “No bookstore, no indoor play space, no Barnes & Noble. There’s nowhere to take the children.” SMARTMOM found another mom who was watching her son in the row-boat sandbox. A Q-train crossed the bridge overhead.  “DO YOU FIND IT NOISY HERE?” Smartmom screamed. “It’s not too bad,” the woman said, clearly too deaf to notice anymore.

After the playground, Smartmom was eager to check out Pomme, a wildly pretentious French children’s store. Children’s store? It looked more like the Whitney Biennial! Smartmom watched as a hip-looking local mom charged more than $200 on a credit card for extravagant birthday party gifts, while speaking French with the owner. IGNORING HER (who has time to speak French these days?), Smartmom occupied herself with the store’s publicity postcard: “Pomme is smitten with childhood; imaginary friends and security blankets. Sidewalk chalk, smocks, kneehigh socks.” Pretentious? Mais bien sur. But then again, the prices for cashmere sweaters, black under-wear sets, and French toys matched the shop’s inflated view of itself. Next, Smartmom walked past 70 Washington St., David Walentas’s condo, where lofts are selling for millions.

Around the corner at Foragers, a new Dean and DeLuca-style grocery, young mothers stocked up on expensive porcini mushrooms and hydroponic pommelos. It looked like a Manhattan version of the Park Slope Coop — without the low prices, neighborly co-workers and social consciousness. On Front Street, Smartmom peered into the window of a gigantic showroom for Thermador, Bosch and Gaggenau appliances: all the designer gadgets you need to perfectly equip the kind of huge loft kitchen that you never plan to use.

Nearby, a young mom struggled with a tantrum throwing toddler and a double-stroller on the bumpy cobblestone streets. “Do you need some help?” Smartmom asked, perhaps  with a note of condescension.  “No thanks,” Supermom said. But Smartmom persisted, asking how she puts up with the inconveniences of living in a still-industrial area. “What inconveniences?” Supermom said, completely mystified. Um, the cobblestones, the noise, the trucks. “Oh that,” Supermom said. “But we don’t hear anything once we’re upstairs.”

Finally, it was time for that expense account lunch at Bubby’s, the place to see and be seen among the Dumbo babyrati.  Like its sister restaurant in Tribeca, Bubby’s is an oasis of comfort food and thriftshop style. The large, two level space with Manhattan views was busy with tables of moms and kids. This is no place for Mr. Stroller Manifesto of Park Slope, but a perfect spot for a Bloody Mary and a midday repast.

Smartmom thought about what Dumb Editor had said:  Are all these moms the 2006 version of Smartmom, circa 1990? Well, just like the DUMBO moms, Smartmom and Hepcat left Manhattan when Teen Spirit was born, in search of a big apartment, a nearby playground, and a fairly quick commute to jobs in Manhattan.  But unlike these moms, Smartmom wasn’t nearly as well dressed. And she and Hepcat couldn’t afford to buy a luxury loft (then or now), furnish their kitchen with fancy European appliances, or dress Teen Spirit in French cashmere onesies. Back then, they lived in a fourth-floor walk-up on Fifth Street, which had a teeny tiny view of the harbor. From their living room, the Statue of Liberty looked like one of those plastic souvenirs you get at the South Ferry subway station. BUT SMARTMOM and Hepcat were happy.  There was a laundromat across the street, the Third Street Playground was close by, one of the best public schools in the city was just blocks away and Two Boots Restaurant had (and still has) the best pizza, and the most good-natured waiters in town.

Park Slope of old may not have been as “fabulous” as DUMBO — but it was definitely quieter and cheaper.  And it was home. You know what Dorothy said: there’s no place like it.

For those of you who couldn’t make it to Jackie Connor’s memorial at St. Francis Xavier School on Sunday night, here is the program. If you have any Jackie memories to share, post them as comments. I will send to her daughter for the scrapbook.

Thank you for coming to this celebration of Jackie Connor’s life.

She  died March 7 after fighting lung cancer with the same tenacity, honesty and humor she used to battle somany problmes in the community.

Some of us knew Jackie as a remarkable wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, cousin and friend.

To others, she was simply the "Mayor of Seventh Avenue" or "the lady on the church steps," the person you went to for help, advice, or just a good story.

Those steps seem a lot emptier now, but we’re comforted by the knowledge that so many people can’t pass the corner of Seventh Avenue and Carroll Stret without remembering all the good she did and the hell she raised.

We invite you to share some of those memories at tonight’s celebration

After a welcome from her family and some doo wop music, you can take microphone and tell a favorite story about Jackie, write down your thought for our scrapbook or post a photo.

And when you leave here tonight, we hope you’ll take up Jackie’s fight to make Park Slope, Brooklyn, and the world a better place. She may not be sitting on the church steps any longer, but we’re pretyy sure she’s keeping an eye on everyone.